Chapter 45

Going Up!

"Here," Mister Von Karma handed him a mud-stained scarf, "put that in your case for now and it will be there when you need it."

Miles gave his mentor a look of surprise, "Oh! I thought the police couldn't find—"

"It's found," Mister Von Karma said, "Now put it away and keep it safe. It'll be there if you need it."

Miles didn't think much of the scarf and he put it in his case like he was told. There was no point in upsetting Mister Von Karma.

"How do you feel?" Mister Von Karma asked taking Miles' right elbow in his hand.

Miles stared down at his mentor with a small frown, "Sir? I'm very well."

"You've had a lot of false starts Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "Let's hope nothing ridiculous happens here."

"Yes, sir," Miles said.

"The defense is new too. She's a fresh new lawyer in Marvin Grossberg's firm," Mister Von Karma said.

Miles hesitated and his breath caught in his throat, "Grossberg?"

"Don't tell me you're afraid?"

"I'm not," Miles said, though he knew of Grossberg and his reputation, and that was a little scary.

"Don't act like a soft-headed idiot," Mister Von Karma said, "Stand up straight!"

Miles' posture was always straight, but he obliged the old man by lifting his head a little more and drawing his shoulders back some. The high collar of his heavily decorated jacket felt like it was choking him. The lines of brocade and gaudy ornamentation made the jacket feel heavier and Miles wished very much to remove the coat.

"Stop poking at the jacket!" Mister Von Karma said.

"Sorry sir," Miles said.

"Don't apologize!"

"Sor—um, yes sir," Miles said.

"You're finally going to prosecute your first trial by yourself," Mister Von Karma said solemnly, "Please don't embarrass me…"

Miles swallowed and nodded.

"Don't mess this up."

He opened his eyes and stared up at a strange ceiling. That was not his vaulted ceiling. The yellowy morning light was pouring into the room, but that was not his window.

Miles turned to look at the empty space beside him on the bed. It had been roughly made, the covers were thrown up against a stack of pillows. He frowned and noticed a room service cart at the foot of the bed with the wings put up to form a makeshift table large enough to accommodate a meal. Maddy had helped herself to breakfast too.

He rubbed his face and sat up. She just left. She didn't even say—oh, a note.

Sorry Darling,

But I have to run, I have appointments this morning. I ordered breakfast, I hope you are up in time to enjoy some.

Thanks for an interesting evening. Cheer up Miles, you are wonderful!

Love Maddy

Miles sighed and set the note back on the pillow where she'd left it. He was starting to feel the way he felt when he lost in court. Ashamed. Small. Useless.

Maddy wasn't supposed to see him cry. He was hoping he'd make her cry. In the wee dark hours of the morning they'd sat on the cold floor in front of the window and held each other as if there was something more to them. As if they would come through this madness together.

But Miles didn't like Maddy that way.

When all of the ridiculous emotion had been reigned in she'd coaxed him back to bed and they made lo—he didn't know what to call it. Sex seemed too simple and vulgar. But it wasn't love. Something in between maybe. The release of tension—like turning a valve…

Miles dropped back down on the bed. It was kind of nice. He thought it would make him feel better about himself. Kind of; but not really.

He checked his watch and was successful in his second attempt to rise and greet the day. He sat in front of the room service cart and poked through the trays and breakfast things. He hoped the empty ache he was feeling might simply be hunger.

He was disappointed, but not surprised to find that everything that should have been warm was cold and everything that should have been cold was room temperature. He drank a glass of orange juice that had obviously been reserved for him and wolfed down a couple of pieces of stale toast and jam. Then he went into the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth.

His walk of shame ended at the valet podium when his Alfa arrived in the hands of a grinning valet. Miles slipped him a tip and got in the car. The poor guy had probably never seen one of these in person before.

His flat was cold and empty when he entered. Not even Pess was there to greet him. Miles went to his room in the back frowning and started to change out of last night's clothes.

His phone rang.

"Edgeworth," he said dropping his jacket and his shirt on the bed. Gumshoe was chattering at him excitedly on the other end.

"It's Saturday," Miles said when asked why he wasn't in the office.

"I know," Miles said, "But I'm sure I'm entitled once in a while. Why are you working today?"

Gumshoe's voice was strained with anxious excitement. A murder last night and a suspect in custody this morning. At least his weekend might not be a complete waste of time.

"I'm on my way detective," Edgeworth said by way of dismissal, "I'll be available in about forty minutes."

He parked in the deserted garage of the prosecutor's building about half an hour later and made his way solemnly up the steps to his floor. He hesitated—as was his habit in the past couple weeks—before exiting into the corridor on the twelfth floor and making a beeline for his office. He unlocked his door and opened it slowly. The building was quiet.

Everything was quiet.

Deadly quiet.

Miles filled his kettle and set it to boil and perused his tea selection before deciding on Earl Gray—why not? Nothing cleared his head like dark Assam tea shot with bergamot.

He turned on his computer and while he waited for it to load he began pulling supplies from his desk drawer—an empty folder for the new case file, plastic sheet protectors to slide photographic evidence into, binder clips…

He set everything neatly on the desk in front of him. The kettle clicked as the water boiled and he poured hot water over the leaves in his teapot and let it steep. The warm citrus scent of bergamot wafted pleasantly in the air around his desk.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

"GAH!" Miles picked up his head and found Detective Gumshoe hovering over him. What the—

"Hey, are you okay, sir? " Gumshoe frowned.

"Yes, of course," Edgeworth said one hand splayed over his chest as if he could slow his heartbeat with it, "You… You surprised me, that's all."

"I've never seen you sleep on your desk before," Gumshoe said, "I wasn't trying to wake you, sir. You looked so peaceful."

"Ah… right…" Miles said, "Actually, I'm glad you did wake me, and I'm sorry you… had to see that…"

Gumshoe just chuckled and picked up a file box he'd evidently placed on the floor at his feet. Miles rubbed his face abashedly and hoped the detective wouldn't say anything more.

"Don't be embarrassed Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said, "I fall asleep at my desk all the time."

Miles blushed slightly and grimaced at the same time. He turned his head toward the window and saw his teapot, full of cold bitter tea, no doubt. Miles stood and picked up his teapot just as Gumshoe deposited the case files on his desk.

"I'm just going to… um… refresh this…" Miles said.

When he returned, he set his kettle to boil and put fresh leaves in his teapot. He sat down and glared at Gumshoe.

Gumshoe cleared his throat nervously before beginning his brief on the case at hand.

"So um—Mister Edgeworth…" Gumshoe looked up at Miles for a moment, "Mister and Missus Hardy were arguing over Missus Hardy's extra—extra… Um… she was cheating on her husband with Thomas Bentley. So the um… perp murdered the wife's boyfriend. With his car."

Miles sat still a moment while the detective looked at him inquisitively.

"Okay," Miles said.

"He did it in broad daylight—in his own driveway!" Gumshoe said.

"Right," Miles said and he leaned forward to receive the case file from Gumshoe and started to flip through it.

"The murder weapon was a Cadillac," Gumshoe said.

"I see that," Miles said tapping his chin, "When will the autopsy report be available?"

"Monday, sir," Gumshoe said, "by noon at the latest."

"We can go to court Monday," Miles said, "This is a simple case."

"The defendant is pleading guilty," Gumshoe said, "pretty cut and dry. By Tuesday you can put a bow on it, 'coz it'll be done!"

"Hmph," Miles said, "Must you make light of this case Gumshoe? Honestly, I find the whole thing rather vulgar."

"Oh," Gumshoe said.

"Again!" Mister Von Karma said.

"Please sir," Miles said, "I've learnt my lesson now. I have, sir."

"Did you not hear me?"

Miles was still shaking rather violently and he drew in a shuddering breath before raising his hand toward the button panel.

"Fifteen," Mister Von Karma said.

"But we're on three," Miles said, "I—I—"

"Fifteen," Mister Von Karma repeated.

"I can't…" Miles said.

"What did you say?"

"I said I can't…"

"Nonsense! Even children can do this!"

Miles placed his finger on the number fifteen. He closed his eyes and pressed. He kept them closed and heard the door close in the darkness; the sudden jump when the elevator engaged and began the upward rush through a dozen floors. Miles fell and slid himself into the back corner of the elevator.

"What are you—! Get up!" Mister Von Karma said.

"I-I can't," Miles said without looking up at the man.

"So help me I'll—"

Mister Von Karma grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him into a standing position, "Stand up straight!"

Miles stood like he was told, but he kept his head down and eyes tight shut.

"Stop it," Mister Von Karma said, "All of this is in your head. So stop it!"

"I can't!"

"Stop it!"

"Please!"

Miles felt Mister Von Karma's hand close around his upper arm. The man gave him a bone jarring shake. Neither of them said anything until the elevator stopped. Miles waited for the sound of the doors to whoosh open and the ding inviting them to depart the floor.

He scrambled for the door when it opened but Mister Von Karma held him back.

"Please sir," Miles flailed his other arm into the 15th floor hallway, "I need to get out. Just let me out."

Mister Von Karma let him go suddenly and Miles almost ran into the wall opposite the elevator.

"Sometimes I wonder if you aren't a bit touched in the head," the older man said.

Miles didn't want to look at him.

'If I'm not crazy already, he'll help me to it,' he thought to himself as he leaned into the wall trying to calm his trembling and stop himself from throwing up again.

That's how this latest adventure began.

Miles poured himself another cup of tea as he perused the files in front of him. He was alone finally and that was a relief—mostly. Miles looked up and stared for a moment at the solid imposing door that kept his office separate from the rest of the world. Gumshoe had gone to get some dinner. Miles glanced at his watch; that was almost two hours ago.

Maybe the bumbling detective wasn't coming back. That was good, right? Miles would be able to focus without having to listen to the man's ridiculous deductions and having to explain the most basic concepts. Not that the case was particularly complex. In fact it seemed open and shut.

Miles turned the page he'd been staring at blankly for the last several minutes and stared down at an odd list of words. It was a print out of SMS messages sent between the boyfriend and the cuckolding wife. Miles frowned at the dialogue of the texts and shook his head. They'd been so romantic.

Miles sighed and looked at his phone sitting silently on the desk in front of him. He didn't know they could do that. Would someone read his texts? What kind of story would they find? Random attempts from Phoenix and Larry to 'bring him out of his shell'? The pathetic and troubling narrative of the relationship between him and Maddy? Who would want to read his texts anyway? The diary of a very work oriented and serious—boring—man?

Miles chuckled, "I wouldn't," he said aloud.

Miles frowned some more as he turned the page again—more texts—he turned it again and again until he was past the pages of voyeurism, here was a photo of the murder weapon. It was an older Cadillac probably from before 2010. The man had run his wife's boyfriend over with that car four or five times. He was quoted as saying, "I wanted to make sure he was good and dead."

Miles sighed again. He shouldn't be alone right now.

"It's pretty 'open and shut', I'd say," he spoke aloud to the silent sentry of books and case files lining the shelves, "But, I will probably lose this one too."

He chuckled to himself, drowning in morbid thoughts and dark humor, "Serves that guy right… But still, murder is murder. Murder… Is… Murder…"

He grimaced as thoughts of Kurt Sheinheilig walking free bombarded his mind. Maybe if Phoenix Wright—but Wright would never defend a client he knew was guilty. Miles thought of Ms. Greenly and the eleven other mothers who'd lost their daughters. He could feel his own guilt rise like a lump in his throat, choking him. Suffocating.

The old man was right. He was always right and he'd been right from the beginning. Miles was nothing without Von Karma. By virtue of his own acquittal he'd sealed the old man's fate. Now he was feeling the consequence.

"I'm sorry," Miles said aloud.

He slammed the sordid case in front of him shut and staggered toward his door. He needed to get some air. His office was stifling.

Miles Edgeworth was drowning.

Miles stepped into the empty corridor and stared. No one was at work right now.

Miles turned slowly and shut his office door quietly and stood contemplating his next move. What? He didn't need to contemplate anything, did he? This was not a game.

He wasn't playing anymore.

Miles turned toward his door again. He was standing so close to the door that his nose nearly cracked against it when he did. He muttered a curse under his breath and clamped his hands over his nose. His eyes stung with tears of pain.

Tears of pain.

Miles shook it off and started to walk slowly down the corridor. It was completely silent. No one was in. Why was that? Most prosecutors routinely came in on Saturdays.

He looked at his watch; it was after five. Okay, that's why.

He continued along the corridor and stopped in front of the elevator. They were quite ubiquitous really, and he could never get away from them.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" he asked himself aloud. Even children could ride elevators.

Miles pushed the call button and froze for a moment in shock when the door opened almost immediately. The building really was deserted.

He stepped into the car and stood so that one foot was inside the elevator and one was on the trusted a solid floor of the High Prosecutors' offices.

"It's all in your head," he said aloud into the empty car.

"It's all in your head," he repeated as he stepped inside.

He pressed the 'Close Doors' button and stared at the numbers on the button panel. He could feel his hands start to tremble, "It's all in my head."

A/N: Thanks for Reading! Uh Oh… Where are you going Miles?

It's a little short but I needed to bridge 44 and 46. See you soon!

First flashback is from when Edgeworth was 20, do you know which trial he's about to go into?

Second flashback, he is 15.

We are deep in that downward spiral now… Edgeworth! Please don't do anything rash!

Updates for chapters 6-10 will be coming later. Hopefully 11-15 will be published along with chapter 46.

Thanks again for reading! HONEYMOON just broke 10,000 views!

UPDATED 12JUL2015 – One more chapter revision and I'll finish up the new chapter! Hopefully we can hit 20,000 views (hey, my stuff isn't that popular...)